


Belonging

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Character Studies (Dragon Age) [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Companions, F/F, Gen, Herald's Rest, Skyhold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout Lace Harding knows how she fits into the Inquisition out in the field, but back at Skyhold she's a bit more uncertain.  A drink with friends helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

Harding trudged towards the Herald’s Rest, her boots squelching in the mud.  Skyhold was finally, blessedly free from the relentless mountain snows, but of course, spring had merely moved on to driving rain.  She tugged her hood down lower over her hair, rivulets of water trickling down her face despite her best efforts.  Ah well.  It’d still be nice to get a good pint or two in before bed; there were at least a few perks of not being out on assignment.  Sometimes she felt lonely, constantly being away on missions for the Inquisition.  She knew what she did was vital, of course, but damn if she didn’t feel a little isolated, now and then.

She hauled the front door open, and was hit with a sudden burst of warmth and brightness.  She squinted heavily against the lights and hurried indoors before a gust of wind could further chill her, and pulled her hood down, shaking her head.  She reached up a hand to wipe her hair down and was unsurprised to feel it frizzing madly above her, despite her careful braids.

She nodded to Arla, one of her forward scouts, a Qunari surprisingly sly in the woods despite her seven foot height.  Harding waved to Maryden, who was busy in the midst of a ballad about the Wardens, and was gratified with Maryden’s grin.  Sutherland and his crew called out to her as she passed.  Sometimes it seemed she knew everyone, having to shift between so many places in her work with the Inquisition.

Harding felt a little nervous, though, at what she saw at the bar.  All right, not what, exactly; _who._

Inquisitor Brinda Cadash perched on top of the tallest bar stool, elbowing Varric Tethras in the side.  The elf Sera draped one arm over Cadash’s shoulders, using the other to brandish her tankard in Dorian Pavus’ face.  The Iron Bull, Krem Aclassi, and Warden Blackwall rounded out the row, making for a thoroughly powerful – and intimidating – lineup.

Harding sidled over to the side of the bar, hoping Cabot could get her in and out.  She didn’t want to interrupt the Inquisitor’s meeting, if it could be called that with the Inquisitor laughing so hard her ale shot out her nostrils.  Still, though.  Harding was the scout, the Inquisitor the Inquisitor.  She felt confident enough in the field, doing her job (which she was _excellent_  at, she had to admit) – but here, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself.

Cabot had barely turned away with her order, though, before Cadash caught sight of her.  “Harding!” Cadash crowed.  “Come to join us?”

“Oh!” Harding said, surprised.  “Er, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Intrude on what?” asked Aclassi, his brown eyes twinkling.  He _was_  a handsome one.  “Sera’s impressive litany of dirty jokes?”

“It’s quite astonishing,” said Pavus seriously in that refined voice.  “Someone ought to write a book.  An extraordinarily low-brow, raunchy book, but someone ought to write it.”

“Well don’t look at me,” snorted Tethras.  “Not _everything_  I write is trash, thank you very much.”

“You lot are just jealous,” Sera said, drawing herself up to her full height.  “Not everyone can be so filthy, yeah?”

“Come on,” said Cadash to Harding, “the more the merrier.”  She hopped down from her perch and pulled another stool between Varric and herself.  “S’all right if you’d rather not, but we’ve got room.”

Harding tilted her head, gazing at her for a moment.  Inquisitor Cadash.  Carta smuggler, hands always ready at her greataxe, strong as hell and tough as blazes.  But here she was, pink-cheeked from laughter, a warm, open look on her face.  Herald, Inquisitor, savior of Thedas; just another person, just like anyone else.

“All right then,” said Harding, trying to keep the lopsided grin from her face and failing.

Harding clambered up onto the stool, and Cadash returned to her own.  “Harding!” she cheered, raising her tankard.  She was echoed with a bellow from Bull, a _hear hear_  from Blackwall, and an easy smile from Tethras.  

“We’d be sunk without you, you know,” confided Cadash.

“You’d think a smuggler would have a better sense of direction,” said Varric as an aside.  “But she’s shit at that.”

“I have a lot of other good qualities!” Cadash protested.

“Yeah, but not going in circles?  Not one of them,” said Sera, kissing her on the cheek.  “Luckily there’s some dwarves with sense for all that, or we’d still be off fighting bears and shit out of Redcliffe.”

“I just do what needs to be done,” said Harding sheepishly.  Cabot returned with her pint, and she took a hefty swig, sighing at the familiar taste of ale.   _Definitely_  something she missed in the field.

“Where were you last?” asked Warden Blackwall, leaning around the Iron Bull’s enormity to ask his question.  “Weather none too good?  You look a bit ragged.”

“The Commander ought to give you a break,” said Aclassi, “especially in this sodding weather.”

“Yes, they gave me a little respite for now.  But oh, it was _horrible_ ,” Harding laughed.  “Rain is one thing, and snow is another, but freezing rain?  And hail?  And lightning?  In the _same day_?  While you’re fighting off dead people all over?  I gotta tell you, Inquisitor, Crestwood is a real _hole._ Literally.  There is a hole in the lake full of demons.  I _cannot_  recommend it as a vacation site.”

Cadash groaned, clapping a hand over her face.  “However will Sera and I escape to a romantic getaway?”

“There’s always the Fallow Mire,” said Pavus with an arched brow.  “There, your dead don’t need a hole in the lake.  They’re simply there at all times, in the muck and the rain.”

“Hole-free dead, huh?  Can’t go wrong there,” said the Iron Bull.  “Unless – nah, that joke’s too bad even for me.”

Harding chuckled into her mug.  “There _are_ better corners of Thedas, you know,” she said.  “Honest there are.”

“I don’t know,” said Cadash suspiciously.  “You keep showing me the absolute worst places on _purpose.”_ She nudged Harding, then lifted up her tankard again.  “But at least we’ve got a good scout to get us there.”

Harding clinked her pint against Cadash’s.  “Oh, stop it, you’re making me blush.”

She took another drink, reveling in the warmth of the tavern, the sounds of Maryden’s singing, the laughter of the Inquisitor and her inner circle.  Harding sighed contently.  Maybe she was out there in the wide world an awful lot.  But maybe, now and then, she belonged here, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Requested for Dwarf Appreciation Week on tumblr :)


End file.
